


Blood and Magic

by GabrielLives



Category: Supernatural
Genre: !!!, Aaaaaaangst, Anger, Azrael - Freeform, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Sam, Violence, and death, castiel is trying to help, chamuel - Freeform, cuz im not sure what to tag for right now, dean is being a jerk, good god the angst, grace spell, ill update the tags as i go, im warning you now, its sad, pissed off gabriel, real angels that i looked up, sad angels, watch out yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabrielLives/pseuds/GabrielLives
Summary: Blood.Gabriel woke to the smell of blood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my super late Sabriel big bang fic. I missed a deadline, and I'm out of the bang now. so I have finally decided to start posting. I can do that. Shush.  
> Did you read the tags? This is rough, you guys.  
> I've got a few chapters already written so I will update it soon.  
> Im sorry in advance.

Blood. 

Gabriel woke to the smell of blood.

For a moment, he forgot where he was, lost in the coppery perfume filling his nostrils. His mind was thrown back to his days as a pagan, when blood and virtue sacrifices were offered up to him daily. Where he could take his fill and gain a little more trickster power from the offerings at his alter. 

Gabriel took in another deep breath of the invigorating scent and listened to the drum beats of his fading dream.

Had he been dreaming? Gabriel can't remember going to sleep. He can't remember anything right now. His last thoughts were of Sam, of falling into bed with him (but certainly not to sleep). But everything is hazy. 

The drums flutter. They quicken then dim. They play a song of fear.

The cloud of darkness fades from Gabriel's vision a bit, and he can see the blurry silhouette of his Sam standing tall in front of him. Sam’s leaning back onto the wall, and Gabriel has a hand pressed into the ugly wallpaper of the hotel room, pinning him in place.

Gabriel goes to smile, to make an innuendo laced wisecrack, but he already is. The muscles in his face don't feel right, though. He’s wearing his Trickster smirk, the one he puts on when some asshole gets what’s coming to him. 

_ Why would Sam deserve that smile? _ Gabriel vaguely thinks.

His vision clears a little more, the echo of the drums reverberating through his mind even though he knows that he is awake now.

Sam's face comes into focus completely, and Gabriel takes in a horrified breath.

Blood is speckled across Sam's beautiful features, gushing out of his nose and the angry looking slashes across his skin. One of his eyes has just about swollen shut and is already an alarming shade of purple. The other is red-rimmed and the tracks that run through the blood on his cheeks tells Gabriel that Sam is crying.

“Holy shit, Sam! What happened?!” 

Gabriel moves to reach up to place his fingers on his lover's forehead and heal him. The sudden movement causes Sam to flinch with true fear, swallowing hard and letting out a pathetic whimper. It knocks Gabriel back, hurt that Sam would ever have that kind of reaction to him now, when he needs the healing touch of Gabriel's Grace. 

As his hand falls, barely grazing the blood soaked fabric of Sam's flannel, Gabriel's fingers brush against something cold and metallic, and his hands grasp around it.

He can feel the power of the blade as it crackles to life in his hands. His Grace fumbles forward, wanting to take in the power that Gabriel knows is part of him. 

This is  _ his  _ Archangel Blade.

And it’s stuck to the hilt in Sam's side.

Sam lets out a pained groan when Gabriel's hand jostles the blade invading him, and at the renewed electrified power that’s coursing through it. The shock of energy makes Sam's eyes roll, his teeth clenched so tight he thought they would crack. 

Gabriel pulls his hand back like he had been burned, eyes wide with panic, and hears the beat of the drums pounding even faster.

_ Oh Father,  _ he thinks.  _ It’s his heart. I can hear his heart! _

“Shit!” Gabriel breathes out. “I’m sorry, Sammy. Let me fix it!”

Sam doesn't flinch when Gabriel reaches for him this time, but when Gabriel tries to pull him away from the wall to guide him to the bed, Sam weakly fights him. 

“St..stop.” Sams voice is broken, so weak that Gabriel can barely hear it over the noise in his mind. “Please…” he whispers through silent sobs, “I can’t...no more…”

The words fade and the last of Sam's strength is gone. His knees buckle, but Gabriel is right there to catch him, gently laying him on the floor. 

“Sam, please! You have to let me help you!” Gabriel yells, his own voice cracking with fear. 

Sam slowly opens his eyes, and Gabriel can see the fog lift in them a little. There is a little pang of hope there. He knows that Sam is a fighter, that there’s nothing that can keep his Sammy down.

“...Gabriel?” Sam asks weakly. 

“Shut up, idiot.” Gabriel utters. He tries to put on a smile, something comforting for Sam. “I’ve  _ got  _ to heal you, ok? This is bad.”

Sam goes a little paler. “No Gabriel, n-no.” 

“I can't do it with this in you though,” Gabriel gestures at the Angel Blade, ignoring Sam. He leans in close to Sam, so close he could kiss him under different circumstances. “I'm so sorry, babe, but this is going to hurt.”

Gabriel lowers his head the last few inches to press his forehead to Sam's as he grabs the Angel Blade tightly in his hand. He presses down harder when he feels Sam's body tense with pain, grips his shoulder when he can feel Sam's large hands gripping the fabric of his own blood-soaked shirt, doing his best to distract Sam with a different ache and sweet words whispered in his ear. 

“Stop,” Sam gasps out. “you can't…”

His words die out as the screams pour out of Sam. Each one sears itself into Gabriel's mind as he slowly pulls the blade out from between Sam's ribs. 

“Almost…” Gabriel whispers mostly to himself. “There! It’s out Sam.” The blade clatters as Gabriel tosses it across the room. He didn't even want that thing near him or Sam right now. And materializing it back into his body, still coated with Sam's blood on it, the thought made Gabriel want to puke. 

Sam's screams faded to panting groans, his body relaxing a bit without the excruciating pain in his side. 

Gabriel looked down to see blood pouring out of the wound, the flow pulsing with the beat of Sam's heart still ringing in his mind. He can't waste any time. He can see what little color was left in Sam's skin fade, the color becoming sallow. Sam was gurgling through his breaths and fresh blood had started to leak from his mouth.

“Hang on, baby, I got ya.” Gabriel placed his hands gently on Sam's chest, pulling his Grace forward to heal Sam's wounds. 

But nothing happened.

Blood was still slowly draining from where the blade had torn into Sam. His skin was still a sickly pale and the bruises were not fading. Gabriel could feel the broken and cracked bones under the skin were not mending themselves back together. 

“Wha…?” 

Gabriel pushed harder, causing another hacking groan to escape Sam. The sound snapped Gabriel's wild gaze up to meet Sam's, one of his blood soaked hands reaching up to cradle Sam's battered face. 

“What’s happening?” 

Gabriel placed his free hand over Sam's heart, closed his eyes in concentration, and tried to heal him again. He followed the path of his Grace as he pulled it up from the depth of himself. Felt it snake up then down his arm. He could feel the warmth forming in the palm of his hand, feel it trying to penetrate into Sam's soul. 

But no matter how hard Gabriel pushed it, his Grace would not touch Sam. He dug down deeper and deeper, stretching his Grace further than he had in centuries. He could feel himself getting desperate, his fingernails digging into the soft skin on Sam's chest. 

He watched his golden Grace circle Sam as he tried over and over again to heal. Tears started to blur his vision, hopelessness slowly sinking into him like a weight on his chest.  

“Sam…”

The tears flowed freely now, falling as they pleased to drop onto Sam's cheeks. The lump in the back of his throat finally won, and Gabriel let out a quiet sob, collapsing to press wet kisses to Sam's lips as his Grace continued to frantically bounce and tremble around them. 

“...why?” he whimpered. “Why can't I…?”

“G-Ga…” Sam's gasping voice was barely a whisper, the blood in his throat making it impossible to speak. His body felt so heavy, but Sam raises an arm and held onto Gabriel, loosely grabbing the fabric of Gabriel's shirt. “Yo- nng... didn't…”

“No, Sam no. Don't talk. Save your strength. I’ll… I’ll call Cas! He can heal you.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and called out to the younger angel. _ Cas! Help me! Sam needs help!  _ Before an answer came through, Gabriel felt Sam's hand trail down his arm, coming to rest on top of his own, still pressed into Sam's chest. Gabriel's eyes snapped open as Sam gripped with what little strength he had left, swallowing hard and weakly shaking his head.

Gabriel's breath stuttered at Sam's refusal. “What? Why not?!”

Sam's mouth opened and closed, trying to form words, but all he could muster were coughs and whimpers. Gradually, his breath became more and more sluggish, unsteady. 

“Sam?” Gabriel called to him.

Sam looked blearily around the room. He could see Gabriel talking to him, but the words were murky, a buzz in the room that made no sense.  _ Look at all these lights,  _ Sam thought as he glanced around the room.

“Sam! Look at me!”

_ They remind me of Gabriel.  _ Sam smiled, the corners of his mouth barely turning up. A tear  slipped from his eye, trailing a winding path into his dirty hair.

“Sam...please, no…”

Gabriel reached over and tucked a finger under Sam's chin, guided him so Gabriel could look into his eyes. Eyes that reflected his Grace still in the air and very little of his own self.

“Please don't leave me.” 

The man lingering over Sam was looking down at him with sad eyes. Beautiful gold that was sullied with tears.  _ Shouldn't cry,  _ he thinks.  _ ‘S wrong. _

The man radiates with light. It's so bright Sam wants to look away. But he can't. His body is so heavy that, even if he wanted to move away, he couldn’t.  _ Must be tired, ‘m seeing angels.  _

Yes, he felt so tired. He should close his eyes and rest, just for a minute. 

He just needed to sleep.

“Sam!” Gabriel watches as Sam's eyes close, heavy lids pushing out one last tear. He shakes his shoulders lightly, but those hazel eyes that Gabriel loves so much don't open. The sound of Sam's heartbeat still echoes through his mind, and Gabriel can only crouch helplessly, his lover's body splayed out in beside him, as he listens to the beats fade, falter, and disappear entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gabriel left Heaven, he thought no one would bother to look for him. But when the fledglings he left behind find him steeped in the pagan lifestyle, how will the feel when they find out the truth?

**A LONG TIME AGO**

Gabriel thought that when he left home, no one would notice. That he could spread his glorious wings and glide through the clouds, land unceremoniously onto the most deserted patch of grass he could find, and his very name would be forgotten.  

And, for the most part, he was right.

Michael and Lucifer were too busy pissing each other off and fighting to ever notice Gabriel was gone, and Raphael was so wrapped up in books, learning all he could about the future apocalypse and the minutiae of ruling Heaven that Gabriel wasn't sure if he noticed him at all, even before he left.

But the fledglings, they mourned the loss of Gabriel more than the archangel ever could have imagined.

While he wasn't their caretaker specifically, he took the time to be with them. Unlike the older archangels who tended to regard the fledglings with smugness in their voice and a not too kind hand. 

Gabriel played with them, taught them games and tricks. He told them wild stories about the creation of the universe, when he just had their father and his other brothers to keep him company. He taught many of them to fly.

He was their friend.

And when Gabriel disappeared, their hearts were broken. 

Some of the lesser angels locked their grief away, pushing themselves into their work. God gave them a job, and angels were made to follow orders. 

But others could not move past their sorrow. 

When it became clear Gabriel wasn't coming back, a small group of angels banded together and sent out a secret search party. Four groups of angels sent to the four corners of the Earth to look for the wayward archangel and try and convince him to come home, to let him know he was loved by his younger brothers and sisters. 

They searched for years, vowing not to return to Heaven until Gabriel was found. 

In the forests of the cold north, one of the angels finally found him.

Chamuel flew over the northern tip of Scandinavia, invisible in the borrowed vessel; a man from the southern tip of Spain who got lost on his way to the open market.  

How long had he been searching now? The passage of time was a trivial thing to an angel, but as the weeks turned to months and then to years, Chamuel was beginning to wonder if this was a fruitless endeavor. 

And there was no indication of anything that could be traced back to Gabriel. Chamuel knew that he would not be able to find Gabriel through his Grace. The archangel was smart enough to camouflage his power, he may have even removed it from himself. 

But Chamuel had a skill. He was the angel of lost things. And he would not give up. 

In the northern part of Norway, where the forests were thick with trees and magic, Chamuel stumbled across a gathering of the old world pagan gods. 

A group of them had descended onto a small village that was settled next to a large lake, and the people of the village were overjoyed. They had set up a feast; many beasts of the forest had been slaughtered, the sweet smell of mead filled the air, and the whole village was in an uproar to appease the other-worldly beings that had decided to visit them.

Chamuel didn’t know this, of course. In the grand scheme of the planet, one over-clamorous village wasn't enough to garner attention from an angel that could observe the entire planet, even the whole of the universe, at once. 

However, he could feel the spike of magic and power from the village, a small tremor, a vibration in his Grace that called out to him. It was almost too small to perceive, and it oscillated wildly. Chamuel tried to follow the miniscule trail, hoping and praying to their father that this was something, anything that could be Gabriel. It wasn't Grace he was following, but it felt like home. Familiar. 

He followed the trail, and in the vague distance, the village came into view. 

Chamuel landed gracefully, using the large trees to further hide himself. Peering around the large trunk, the angel tried to find the source of the feeling he was chasing. 

The villagers had all gathered in a small clearing, dressed in colorful robes and celebrating. Stone altars were set up at the edge of the trees, and there were lines of people waiting to offer goods to the deities they were worshiping. Chamuel scanned over the villagers to the alters. Nothing about them was sending out the feeling he sensed. He circled around the clearing, eyeing the large group of people near the water.

Large, intricately carved wooden thrones were placed in the shallow water of the lake, the legs floating upon the rippling water. Lily flowers, ivy and other plants were surrounding the chairs, growing up out of the water at an alarming pace. The chair in the middle was the largest, more ornate than the other two that flanked it, and carved into the high back were depictions of bloody battles and fearsome wolves. 

It was obvious to Chamuel that the beings sitting on those thrones were powerful. They were true pagan gods that had descended to their followers. He looked, looked at these beings and searched for something familiar. He watched the demigods perform magic, accepting the offerings that fell to their feet and at the altars. The lesser two beings were unfamiliar, but the third, the one in the center and the most powerful, Chamuel was drawn to him.

The body was foreign, but when he caught a glimpse of the deity’s eyes, brightly shining gold in the midday sun, Chamuel knew. He would know those eyes anywhere. 

The eyes of an older brother which glinted with mischief and knowledge, with kindness and joy. 

This was Gabriel. There was no doubt for Chamuel. 

He stood, hidden in the trees, invisible to those around him, until he felt the presence of another angel appear at his side. 

Azrael’s vessel, a woman taken from the south east regions of Khazar Khaganate, landed with a large gust of wind, her wings shaking the branches of the trees.

“Why are you hiding in the trees, brother?” Azrael asked flatly. “ We have a job to do.”

“Look.” Chamuel raised a shaking hand, pointed to the gods on the water. It was a single word, but no longer the strong voice of an angel booming its presence. This was broken, shaking like a pup in the cold. Only sadness was pouring from the angel. 

“What? What do these vulgar pagans have to do with our search?” She glared past the trees and over the field, annoyed that they were pausing to watch these blasphemous ceremonies. 

Chamuel made a noise, half a sob and half a scoff. “No, Azrael. Look. Really look. In the middle, there.” 

Azrael sighed as she focused her gaze on the demigod in the tallest throne. “He is Loki.” she spat. “God of Mischief and Chaos.”

“His eyes, Azrael! Can’t you see it?”

“I see nothing in his eyes but misery and disaster, brother.”

“Then look deeper,” Chamuel begged, coming up behind Azrael, wrapping his Grace around her as he pulled her into a sad embrace. “Past the glamour, past that meaningless face. Look. Please see.” 

She saw through him, through his eyes that could see the truth. Through the charms that surrounded the god Loki, sitting so contentedly in his falsehood. Deep, deep down there was a spark of something that could never be fully hidden, never be expunged from himself no matter the form he took. 

And with a sharp intake of a breath she didn't need, Azrael saw him. Gabriel. The brother who left, who deserted them. Who abandoned  _ her _ .

Tears ran down her borrowed face, her body shook at the realization, and she felt Chamuel cry with her. But she did not cry in sadness. 

A fury boiled up in her, a wrath that would rival that of her Father. “This is where he went?!” Azrael cried as she tore out of Chamuel's arms. “He left us all broken and mournful so he could disappear and do THIS?!” Her arms were flailing wildly as she stomped around in her rage, the grass wilting and dying under her bare feet. “He is down here, defying our Father, sullying his beautiful Grace with these… these primitive beasts!” she spat angrily.

“Azrael, please,” Chamuel tried to calm his sister, his arms up in defense, “he was heartbroken over his brothers.”

Azrael’s wild and glowing eyes trained onto Chamuel, and he found himself taking a few steps back. Tears were still falling freely down her cheeks, her voice cracked and shaken.

“And what did he think would happen to us? Tell me that, brother.”

He had no answer for her. 

With one loud sob, she finally collapsed to the ground, and cried. Chamuel was at her side in an instant, cradling her close and shushing her gently. He reached out tentatively with his Grace, wary if she would accept the comfort now, but she opened up to his presence, let the waves of warmth and reassurance flood her being.

“How could he do this?” she asked weakly, barely a whisper through her sobs. “How could he leave us?”

They curled together on the cold ground, finding comfort in each other. They watched for days, watched as the holy image of Gabriel was slowly chipped away. 

Goblets of mead and drink were emptied and continually refilled. During the light of day, Loki and the other gods would toy with the villagers; playing tricks and casting illusions for their own amusement. And at night, well, it was almost too much for the angels to bear. 

The decadence of the day bled into the night, and drunken villagers, men and women alike would fight tooth and nail for the honor of being with the powerful demigod. And Loki indulged them. Indulged himself. 

Every carnal act, every sin of the flesh broke Azrael a little more. Tore away what she thought she knew of the older brother that she loved so dearly. 

Until, one day, she broke completely. 

“When will we talk to him?” Chamuel asked. “We need to tell him to come home.” He looked up into the branches of the high trees, to Azrael sitting on a limb and still just watching. “Our brother needs to come home.”

“That thing is no longer our brother, Chamuel.” Azrael said flatly, her voice carrying down to him from the tree tops. “Gabriel is dead.”

Chamuel gasped, horrified at his sister's words. “How can you think that?” Fresh tears pricked at his eyes. “He will always be our brother. He is an Archangel!”

“No.” Azrael stood slowly, the bark of the branch scratching at her feet, unnoticed. “Not anymore.”

She gazed over the field, past the lake where the thrones still floated. She looked to the sky, her home, which would never be the same. Not without Gabriel. 

One last tear fell, one last thought of Heaven and what it used to be. 

Azrael looked to home, and asked for forgiveness.

She took a step off the high branch, used her soft wings to float gracefully to the ground. By the time her feet touched the grass, her face had steeled. The red rimmed eyes had faded and her voice no longer shook with sadness. 

“You do not know what you are saying, Azrael.” 

She ignored his words and held out her hands. The blinding light of her Grace poured from her hands and gathered together. It took form, starting with the toes, then the feet, the legs, and so on until the full form of a beautiful young girl took shape. Her alluring features set in a glowing smile, blue eyes shining like sapphires, her long hair falling down her back in soft waves.

In her hand was a ornately carved wooden goblet, a scene of a giant wolf descending on a group of hunters. 

“What is this?” Chamuel asked, but Azrael continued to ignore him.

He watched as Azrael cupped her hands together, the blue light of her Grace filling them, then with a few murmured words, tipped her hands into the goblet. Out of her Grace, a thick black substance poured slowly. It oozed into the cup, but as it hit the bottom, it transformed into a bubbly amber mead, smelling of honey and yeast. 

“Azrael! What are you doing!” He grabbed her arm, twisted her so he could look her in the eyes. He saw a fire there, hidden under the calm exterior of her placid face. It frightened him, the venom concealed behind the mask of her vessel. His grasp on her arm weakened, and slowly she turned away again.

“Go,” she commanded to the constructed girl in a dull voice. “For Loki only.”

“No! Stop!” His voice echoed, sending a few birds fluttering to the sky. His eyes glowed with his own Grace as he overpowered Azrael’s hold on the false villager. She stopped a few paces short of the tree line. Chamuel grabbed Azrael by the shoulders, twisted her violently so they faced each other. “What did you put in the goblet, sister? What are you planning?”

Azrael stared for a moment, eyes wide with surprise and panic. She felt her throat close, felt the pain well up in her again. She tried to swallow it down again, but it was too great, too big for her, and her body lost all its strength. Her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground, crying into Chamuel’s shoulder. 

“It isn't fair, Chamuel!” she wailed. “I love him! It isn't fair!”

“I know,” Chamuel soothed her. “I know it isn't. I love Gabriel as well. He is our brother, our dear friend. But please,” he pulled back, his hands cradling her face, “whatever you are doing here, please don't. We can go talk to him.”

Azraels body shook, unable to control her trembling lips as Chamuel wiped a tear away with his thumb. 

“Brother,” she whispered, “he will feel what I feel. What it’s like to lose the one you love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m so sorry, dear brother.”

In her hand, her angel blade appeared, and with an anguished cry, plunged it into Chamuel's heart. He gasped, shocked at the searing pain. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his entire body locking up as his Grace flared and pulsed frantically. 

There was a sob, Chamuel couldn't hear it. The ringing in his ears echoed louder and louder. His fingertips dug into the soft skin on Azrael’s face, the nails pushing in deeper and tiny trails of blood escaped from under a few.

He fell back, the heavenly light of his Grace escaping his body. The pain radiated out from the wound in his chest, filling every piece of him; his vessel and his angelic form. He felt his wings burning, searing an imprint into the dense grass and vegetation. 

With one last bright flash of Grace, Chamuel was gone. 

Azrael cried. She felt empty, yet the tears still fell. She sat for a while, not paying attention to the passage of time. When her sobs finally subsided to broken sighs, she rose from the ground, leaving Chamuel's empty vessel and the charred remnants of his wings behind to finish her task. 

The angle blade slid free from muscle and bone easily, coated with blood and a slight glow from the Grace it had previously extinguished. 

Her eyes, red and still dropping tears, were empty, the sparkle of Heaven missing. Her clothes, soaked in blood, clung to her body, sticky and slowly cooling. Her voice, before so full of the Host and her collective family, was hollow; flat and spiteful.

“Go,” she called out to the construct. A simple order that was obeyed without hesitation. 

She watched as it weaved through the crowds with purpose, pressed a little more personality into it with her Grace. The construct smiled, laughed with the drunken villagers, then finally presented her cup to Loki. 

Azrael didn't smile when he took it, in fact her frown deepened as he drank. How could he not see the spellwork in the drink? Was he so cut off from his family that he wasn't even an archangel anymore?

She was shocked out of her thoughts as she saw Loki pull the construct in for a rough kiss, one it happily returned, and toss the empty goblet aside. Her wide eyes filled with fresh tears and she felt a new anger bubble up in her. 

“Goodbye, Gabriel.” Her voice never wavered in her spite. “Whoever it will be, I hope they are worth it. Worth the loss of your true family, of all the fledglings who love you.”

She turned on her heels, the blade in her hand still dripping with thick blood, tiny drops marking her path back into the deep part of the forest. 

Azrael's sharp cry lifted out of the trees, not quite enough to reach the field of worshipers. The light of her Grace flashed in the distance, and the only thing left of her was the empty vessel and the patterns of her burnt wings that would not be found before the growth of the thicket overtook her. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Present**

Gabriel sat on the floor of the filthy hotel room, leaning against the bed, his knees pulled into his chest like they could block out the image in front of him. But no matter how many times he closes his eyes, hopes that when he opens them again the scene will change, the shift never happens. 

Sam is still sprawled out on the blood soaked carpet.

Dead.

And Gabriel couldn't heal him. His Grace just wouldn’t allow it. No matter how much he pushed, how he screamed for his Grace to fix Sam, it would not touch him. 

He even tried after Sam had passed away. Gabriel waited for Sam's bright soul, the brightest he had ever seen, to rise up and start the journey to its final destination. When it appeared, he pulled at it, called it back to him, to its rightful place in Sam. 

Gabriel had power over it, over souls. He was an archangel. Reviving a person, putting a soul back was something he should be able to do without complication. But his Grace just bounced off the soul leaving Sam, sending sparks and lightning through the tiny room. As the shivering soul rose to the sky without his Grace calling it back, Gabriel screamed.

The echoes of his true voice shattered every piece of glass and mirror for miles.

So here Gabriel sat, broken glass and gore surrounding him, his Grace pouring out of him and  thickening the air in the room. His eyes never left Sam, always watching him, hoping for...he didn't know what. 

Quivering tendrils of Grace would snake over to Sam’s body, try and touch him. But there was something keeping them back. Gabriel couldn't even heal the marks and cuts and gashes that littered Sam's skin. 

All he wanted was to fix Sam, even if it wouldn't put the warmth and color back in his cheeks.

He missed the first knock at the motel room door. Missed the soft call of his name through the wood, too focused on the body of his lover on the floor. Another knock, Gabriel heard it this time but chose to ignore it. 

_ Gabriel. _

He sighed, shaky and tired, then called back through the angelic connection.

_ Castiel. _

Gabriel heard the handle turn, the door being pushed open, scraping the debris of the destroyed room that was blocking it like it was nothing. 

“Gabriel,” Castiel called again, hesitant and cautious. 

The archangel ducked even further down, hoping the tattered bed frame and the crooked mattress would hide him from his younger brother. But, of course, it didn't. Castiel’s footsteps approached slowly, carefully, as if he was trying not to spook an injured animal. Gabriel didn't look, couldn't look at his younger brother, didn't want to see what was lurking in his striking blue eyes. 

Pity, sympathy, anger. 

It was the last one that Gabriel wanted to avoid. It was obvious to anyone (except maybe the hunter himself) that Dean and Castiel had a powerful bond, but that didn't mean that Cas didn't also view Sam as a brother, an open ear to talk to, a friend. 

Castiel was silent when he slowly sank to the floor next to Gabriel, only a sliver of space between them. The silence dragged on, and Gabriel hated it. Castiel should be screaming at him, cursing the day that the archangel popped back into their lives. His Grace should be so tumultuous that the wreckage of the motel room would be rocketing around them. He should be striking him, giving him the same treatment that had befallen Sam. 

It was what he deserved.

When Castiel raised his hand, Gabriel flinched. It made him feel like a coward, recoiling at the punishment that was coming to him. But Castiel didn't raise his hand in anger. His strong hand, hands that could crush anything, destroy anything, his hand fell to Gabriel's knee, gentle pressure from those long fingers telling Gabriel that Castiel was here, that he wasn't angry. 

“Cas.”

The word wavered. Shook with grief that was in a push/pull struggle to be stamped down to the infinite depths of a Trickster's mask. 

There was no spoken reply. Castiel’s presence, his Grace, drifted over to Gabriel. It caressed him, tried to comfort him. Gabriel lifted his head to look at Castiel, and was taken aback with the expression of pure despair over Sam's death. 

Tears fell without abandon. Yet the stoic face of the seraph didn't shake, didn't quiver.

Gabriel's shaky voice came again. 

“Does Dean know?”

There was fear laced in it now. 

Castiel sighed, his eyes falling to the dirty floor. 

“I’m sorry Gabriel, but yes.”

More tears rolled down Castiel’s face while he still avoided Gabriel's gaze.  

“Castiel, brother,” Gabriel spoke quietly, “can you heal him?”

Castiel deflated, finally lifting his face to meet Gabriel’s pleading eyes. 

“I’m only an angel, Gabriel. I can't bring him back to life. I don't have that kind of power.”

There was a look of pain on Castiel’s face that made Gabriel look away again. 

“I know that,” he said, “I know. But I can't touch him. Something won't let me. I can't heal his body. Please, Castiel. My Grace won't touch him.” He started to break down again, Gabriel’s breathing starting to become more ragged and fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel shushed him, “I’m sure there is nothing wrong with you. We will figure out what happened.” Along with his Grace surrounding Gabriel, Cas wrapped his arms around his brother, offering him the touch of his body as well as his Grace. They stayed wrapped in each other for a few moments, both getting solace for their shared loss. As he pulled away, Castiel brought a hand up to cradle Gabriel’s face, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “I will heal Sam as best as I can.”

He pulled Gabriel closer, their foreheads together as Gabriel clutched at the lapels of the familiar trench coat that was so synonymous of Castiel. 

“Thank you, brother,” Gabriel whispered. 

As they separated, Castiel left one last squeeze to Gabriel's shoulder, and rose. He gingerly made his way over to the body of Sam Winchester. Standing over him, Castiel winced at the damage to the hunter. It was a brutal scene, and Castiel followed the blood splatter and trails to the Archangel Blade that was thrown haphazardly to the wall. 

He knelt, on one knee next to Sam's chest, and laid a hand over the closed eyes. The room had calmed. Gabriel's Grace had pulled back to make way for him. Castiel pulled his own Grace forward and into Sam, recoiling a bit at the empty chasm that he found. 

He tried, he really did try, to pull Sam’s soul back to him. But it just was not in his power to do so. So he did what he could. His Grace stitched up the cuts and gashes, mended the broken bones and rebuilt Sam as whole as he could. But his soul would not come back. It just was not in his capacity to do so. 

“Thanks, Cas.” 

Gabriel's broken voice caused Castiel to turn back, but as he did, he heard the tell-tale snap, and found the spot previously filled by Gabriel to be empty. He blanched at the sudden departure, and looked back to find Sam’s body also gone, obviously taken by Gabriel. 

The room was still a mess and alarms were still echoing off in the distance, so Castiel repaired what he could from his brother's anger and flew back to the bunker, fairly sure that Gabriel would be there. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank @fluffymoosejaredpadaleckimuffin on Tumblr for helping me with the dialogue in this chapter! I had hit a wall and they sent me a little scene for when Dean confronts Gabriel through the door and I just want to say thank you for that!

As they land in Sam’s room at the Bunker, Gabriel is careful. 

Sam landed gently on his bed, snapped bigger than a king size long ago to fit them both, his clothes no longer bloody and tattered. Gabriel stands there, next to the bed, wanting so badly to touch him more, to kiss his skin all over, to just talk to his hunter. 

His hand raises, inching closer to a lock of hair that fell into Sam’s eyes. With a shuddering gasp, Gabriel pulls away. He bites his thumb to keep from screaming.

He falters for a moment, trying to blink back the tears. Gabriel snaps once, and the room is overwhelmed with the smell of a forest of herbs and flowers that cover Sam’s bed. There are sprigs of wild mistletoe and holly over Sam's legs. Bundles of flowers are laid on Sam's wide chest, spilling out over the mattress and hanging over the edges, heavy piles of African violets, roses, peonies, calendula and others surround Sam’s body. And a halo of bluebells float on his pillow. On the floor, circling his bed, is a salt ring. 

One more snap, and the walls are covered in every pagan and angelic preservation and life symbol he can think of. They sear into the walls and door, even up on the ceiling and under his boots. The smell of electricity and singed wood masks the smell of the flowers for a moment. 

The Trickster powers of Loki and the natural power of flora are what Gabriel wants to work. Hoping that he can keep Sam's body in one piece while he finds out what happened and get his soul back.

Castiel followed him back, Gabriel can tell when he lands in Dean's room. He doesn't mean to listen in on the two of them, but the silence in the room is sickening.

_ Hello, Dean. _

Dean is drunk, but coherent.

_ Cas, is Sam back?  _

He can hear the pause, so loaded with sadness.

_ Yes, Dean. Gabriel has brought back his...body.  _

There’s a scuffle, glass bottles clatter to the floor. 

_ Wait, Dean! _

He doesn't need angel senses to hear Dean's heavy boots stomping towards him. 

“GABRIEL!”

Dean's tone as he stumbled down the hallway should have been enough to terrify the worst that goes bump in the night, but Gabriel just sighed, never looking away from Sam. 

“Your brother’s coming,” he whispered as his fingers grazed the edge of the bed, still not touching Sam’s body. “Can you help me a little here? Please, Sam.” Gabriel could feel his chin quiver a bit, his throat starting to close in on itself. “Wake up…” 

“GABRIEL! OPEN THIS DOOR!”  

The archangel ignored the way the door shook from Dean's fists, didn't listen to his shouting pleas.

“...please wake up, Sam.” Tears fell from his eyes now, dropped into the line of salt beneath his feet. 

“God dammit, Gabriel,” Dean slurred from the hall, “give me my brother!”

Gabriel turned his head up slowly, watched the door vibrate with every punch Dean threw at it. 

“You flying dickbag! Open this fucking door right now!”

“No…” Gabriel whispered. 

“Let! Me! In!” Dean bellowed, each word punctuated with a punch to the door. 

“No…” Gabriel said, his voice rising slightly, his mouth twisting into a frown.

“I need to see- Get off me, Castiel! I need to see him!” 

“NO!” The archangels voice reverberated through the room, shaking the walls with his true voice leaking out.

“WHY NOT!” came Deans desperate reply.

Gabriel rushed up to the door, anger bubbling up in him. “I WON’T let you take him from me!” He wanted to be angry, to rage against whatever had caused this, but in an instant, his fury had morphed into a deep sorrow. He wished silently that it had been him instead. He would give anything to trade places with Sam right now. More tears rolled down his cheeks, hot and wet, and Gabriel wished he could melt away with them as they fell. “I can't. I just...can't.”

There was a silence beyond the door, Gabriel had a sense of the calming Grace that Castiel was projecting, trying to keep Dean calm. 

“You can't? Weren't you the one who told Sam to let me go?! Huh? Back in Broward County?” 

At the mention of the Mystery Spot, Gabriel flinched. 

“If Sam is- is really gone,” Dean kept yelling, “then he deserves a hunter's funeral!” 

At the thought of Sam on a pyre, Gabriel saw red. His head fell, chest heaving in anger and his hands twisting into fists.

“You won't,” he said quietly, suppressing the rage that was boiling up in his veins and causing his Grace to thrash violently.

Out in the hall, Castiel was tugging Dean back, trying to retreat from the violently rolling Grace he could feel in Gabriel. But Dean was fighting him, still yelling at Gabriel. 

“You told him to live without me!” Dean shouted. “Follow your own damn advice! GIVE HIM TO ME!”

“You won't!” Gabriel howled, fists slamming into the wood of the door, splintering and cracking it around his head. “I won't let you BURN HIM!!”

Gabriel’s Grace flared out violently, a shockwave of force rippling out of him towards Dean in the hall. Castiel acted in an instant, grabbing Dean's shoulder and flying him a safe distance away. His tried to reach out with his own Grace, tried to calm his brother. Castiel pulled back quickly though, hissing in pain as the fury of an archangel tried to overpower him. 

And in his blind rage, Gabriel hadn't even felt Castiel’s presence. His eyes glowed with holy wrath, his Grace pulsing out fast and tumultuous. 

_ Gabriel! Stop! You must calm yourself! _

Castiel called frantically, hoping to snap his brother back. 

Gabriel didn't hear him through his screaming.

Suddenly, Gabriel stopped, the room still and silent aside from his heavy panting breaths. He felt drained, like he could sleep for a million years if he wanted. The tears still fell, and Gabriel gave up on trying to stop them. Numbness was working its way through his body as he twisted and sank to the floor, propping himself against the tattered door. 

_ Gabriel. _

Castiel’s voice carried to him again, attempting to be tranquil and grounding. Instead, it was a dagger in Gabriel’s heart.

_ I can fix this, Castiel.  _

Guilt and hopelessness flooded through Gabriel, and he pulled his legs up and buried his head in his arms. His whole body shook with quiet sobs.

_ I’m sorry. I can fix him. I’m so sorry.  _

“Well now,” Gabriel’s head whipped up at the intrusion in the room, “I never thought I’d see the day where you would apologize so truly.”

Gabriel stared at the woman who appeared so suddenly in the room, stunned. His breath caught in his throat, and, for a moment, he felt the darkness that was entwined with his whole being retreat a little.

“Mother?”


End file.
